Perserverance
by Knyrist
Summary: When you arrive in Skyrim with nothing, you have to use what few skills you have to survive - and reap the rewards, whatever they may be.


A/N: This was originally going to be a part of my "Second Life" series, but quickly became a story of its own.

* * *

Olivia set the handles of the cart down, the wheels of the cart sinking into the thick mud with a wet thunk. Several of the gourds shifted in the back of the cart, tumbling over each other. The shifting of the heavy load caused the cart to sink deeper into the ground. Olivia wiped a filthy hand across her brow, her sleeves catching the drops of sweat and rain. The clouds had been threatening all day, finally resulting in a light rain that created deep puddles of mud, hindering her work.

Looking at her dirty hands and grunting in dissatisfaction, Olivia left the cart and headed towards the farmstead. The worn building was nestled amongst a clump of trees at the side of the cobble road, marking where the fields ended and the forest began. Olivia trudged towards the rain barrel at the corner of the house while blinking the raindrops out of her eyes, which were salty with sweat.

Dunking her hands into the water, Olivia scrubbed furiously, not caring that the water in the barrel became cloudy with dirt and filth. When it became clear that the soil and filth could not be cleaned from underneath her sharp nails she gave up the task in favour of splashing water on her face.

Olivia finished washing the sweat off her heavy brow and turned to the crates next to the barrel. She shoved aside some of the errant sacks of flour off the largest crate and sat, her shoulder jostling the shovel that leant against the wall next to her.

She stared at her hands in a moody silence. Hands that were developing plenty of callouses and roughness attributed to hard farm work. Six months of working in the fields had been rough, but necessary. She had no other way to survive in the harsh land of Skyrim on her limited skills.

Really, Olivia had been extremely lucky to have found a family to have taken her in. Waking up in a foreign (and supposedly fictional) world was hard enough, but having no practical skills had threatened to end her. She stumbled upon a small farmstead and had begged the poor family for a means to eke out a living. Perhaps it was the fact that she was physically fit that outweighed their initial suspicion and distrust. She had been put to work in the fields, harvesting wheat and vegetables from the meagre crop in return for regular, small meals and a pallet by the fireplace.

Over the past few months, Olivia entered into an uneasy coexistence with the family of five. The two youngest children had accepted her easily enough, being too young and naïve to understand the dangers of outsiders wandering Skyrim. It was them that had given her a new name – Meja – when she had feigned amnesia instead of telling them the fantastical truth. The aged parents and the eldest daughter had been far less trustful of her – and understandably so – but they were willing to feed, shelter and clothe a stranger who was willing and able to work. The farm had been less than prosperous as of late, so the family was amenable to having a worker who would till and harvest the fields for next to nothing.

Olivia leant back against the rough wood of the farmhouse, her hands tugging idly at the rough wool dress that had been given to her. The hem of the faded red dress was soaked and stained with mud. The borrowed dress was ill-fitting and scratchy, but Olivia refused to complain. She had to be practical to survive, and there was no way that she would have the means to purchase her own clothing anytime soon.

It hadn't been easy, coming to grips with the crushing loss of her previous life on Earth, as well as adjusting to the long hours and the heavy work. There wasn't any other option but to keep her head down and take what little favours her new life in Skyrim would give her.

She scoffed. Little favours. Olivia stood, and returned to the rain barrel. Paying no mind to the splintering wood, she grasped either side of the barrel. She leaned over the rippling water, her wet hair dangling limply. Now resigned to her new face – as she had not been blessed with the convenience of keeping her previous body when she woke in Skyrim – Olivia lifted her hand to face. Her fingers trailed along the strong curve of her jaw, brushing the still unfamiliar shapes and planes of her cheek. This was the face she'd have to endure for the rest of her stay.

As far as Skyrim was concerned, Olivia the human had never existed. Only Meja the Orc lived to endure the hardships of this unforgiving land.


End file.
